


Sweet Dreams

by TheChug



Category: Skullgirls
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-01
Updated: 2014-02-01
Packaged: 2018-01-10 20:39:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1164290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheChug/pseuds/TheChug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Night has connotations - both positive and negative. To children, the night is something to fear, along with all that stalk it. Children are given bogey-men to keep them from seeking such danger, but Peacock was never one to need a figure of fictional fear in her life - bogey-men were all too real.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet Dreams

As a child, there is something terrifying about the night- your parents always told you about 'the Witching Hour' and preached cautionary tales about the men and women who roamed the streets under the jet cover of night. They told you to come home before the moon-rise, lest some unspeakable horrors reach you and snatch you from home bound roads. The stories changed and adapted to fit their environment - you were warned about giants in another land and their blood thirst, if you lived with a uniformed man, but those by the shore were warned about privateers that pillaged as they pleased. To those, however, who were war-torn, they were seldom taught such stories. For one, there was little need for a bogey-man. For many, the fear of being taken was no longer enough of a fantasy to fear, as parents didn't want to scare their children. They didn't tell those stories simply because there are better uses of time. 

Such as preparing their darling children for what was inevitable. 

Children were lucky to survive the anarchy of war, and the autocracy of afterwards. Children were never free, as they should be, but rather they had different shackles that they could bear. A child may be taken by the slavers and treated harshly under the brutes. A luckier child may be the servant of a wealthy benefactor, who in their kindness took pity on them and adopted them as a worker to groom. In truth, there was always a servitude that they would have to bear. However, servitude, by benefactor, was more preferable to serfdom and slavery. 

For Peacock, there stood a monument to how children suffer - by the sea front, where fish men peddle their wares, there was a building. A building almost indistinguishable from all the others; slotted into rows of cobblestone streets; with only an old, converted belfry to mark it - at night, from this tower, a blue glow could be seen since it's abandonment. The windows were fogged and a metal sheet covered what was once the door way. She approached, and ran a gloved finger across the aluminum. Her eyes spotted a gap in the sheet from where it bulged in the doorway, apparently too big to fit. She pulled it, expecting a fight, but it came away easily in her hands - for the effort she put in, she found it unneeded, stumbling back with the sheet in her hands. 

"Somebody did a lousy job here, I guess" she murmured to herself. 

She turned the door knob and to her surprise once more, the door opened. "Dat's odd - something ain't right," responded her conscience, and she pulled a shotgun from her bottomless arsenal - "if there's a slaver in here, he ain't got a chance," she spat with glee. 

She pulled the door to and with a tip toe, she crept through the hallway, a maniacal grin lighting up her face. Her eyes flickered for cob web to cob web; she took in the broken chair legs and smashed benches. She skulked around every room, like a predator on the prowl, waiting for someone to jump out so she may deliver her righteous anger upon them. She wished to crush this place, as it had crushed her before hand - she suffered the subjugation of slavery and the typical tyranny that took from her innocence and and delivered only insanity. Her grin became ferocious and her brow furrowed into anger as she crept, with a shotgun gripped in her gloves. She could swear that she could it all as she had once done - scenes of poverty that were only so bad when her innocence died, and she became the posthumous embodiment; a mere corruption of her former self. The gun shook in her hands as she lunged on tip toe up the stairs; her rage boiling over to the point where she'd be more likely to beat her enemies with her weapon, rather than blast them. 

Her hunting took her to a hallway, bare of anything but the peeling wall paper. Doors lined the hall, each one already swung open. Peacock's eyes scanned each one as she sneaked past, but except for the metal frames that were once a child's bed, they were empty. Her anger turned into a wavering disappointment and her finger eased from her trigger. She lowered the gun and kept it tight in the crease of her armpit. She made sure that each boot forward was slow and made no noise. The journey to the hallway's end seemed long; an insurmountable task - her small footsteps became longer strides and all pretense of carefulness was soon lost. At last, her hand landed upon the door handle and she opened up the room to her. 

This room was different - the bed had a matress, for one, and was made up neatly. The floor was clean and the walls seemed as if they had fresh wallpaper plastered on them. On an old mahogany armoire, on a wire coathanger, there hung a pair of old pajamas, folded onto the wire. A cap was hung on the bed posts, with a sleeping mask adorned with velvet eyes. Peacock reached for them and opened them up; and to her surprise she recognise the garments. She had to check the label to be sure - written neatly in biro was 'Patricia.' 

Patricia dropped the gun that was fixed betwixt her arm and her breast - miraculously, it didn't fire. She took the hat from her head and placed it on the bedside armoire, before sitting upon the bed with the pajamas laid beside her. Her eyes became transfixed on a small window above the bed, as she saw the dawn darken. She rubbed her eye sockets instinctively and yawned. 

"I guess..." she pondered "I should stay, 'case the bum stayin' here comes back." 

She stretched her long metallic limbs out and wiggled her thin legs. She kicked off her brown boots and jumped to her feet once more. After she picked up the clothes from the bed, in a cartoony flash, she held her dress and sported the green bed attire. On the breast pocket, a sewn Annie to theme her dreams. She placed the cap upon her head and propped the gun against the armoire. She jumped underneath the covers just as the last light faded and snapped the mask onto her eyes. She shuffled under the silky covers and almost instantly fell into a deep sleep. 

A lot can be said about the dreams of a child - they're either filled with the sweetest of scenarios to horrific nightmares. Those scenarios change from person to person, as some become royalty - princes and princesses who dance in balls and get admired by their royal subjects. Others aspire to become tough soldiers, who could take down a Gigan with a single blow and win the admiration of the royals. Others want to be dinosaurs, but who are we to judge. Peacock's dreams were littered with the bludgeoning of fat headed slavers and the utter decimation of brigands. Peacock's dreams always ended with a crimson curtain. Peacock's dreams were always sweet - to her at least. For once, however, something disturbed her - greatly. 

Down the hallway, creaking came. Blue light leaked through the door cracks as the unknown approached. Something was strange; unnatural and ghastly. Peacock tossed and turned in her sleep, before the dreadful atmosphere made her shoot upright suddenly. Her mouth was agape, yet no noise escaped. She lifted her sleep mask and rolled up her sleeves, which lit up red in anticipation. She reached for her gun as the door handle rattled and when that door swung open, she was dazzled by ominous blue. The figure stepped into the room and the door shut behind it. The light began to drop and clarity came. A soft voice came forth: 

"Patricia, I'm scared."   
Before Peacock stood a girl, with red irises and cream pajamas. Tears brimmed at her eyes and she trembled in fear. Peacock's jaw dropped further and a shaky gasp came from her throat. 

"Marie?!" 

Peacock jumped from underneath the covers and lept to Marie, embracing her quickly and hugging her tight. Peacock's toothy grin beamed as her chin rested upon Marie's shoulder and she cradled her roughly. "Marie, I neva thought I'd see ya again!" cried Peacock, with unrepentant joy in her voice. She pulled back to see her old friend's face once more. Her joy turned to perplextion as she spied the teary eyed Marie, whose lips quivered and tried to break into smile, but could not be forced. 

"Marie?" quizzed Peacock, who began to brush her cheek. 

"Patricia, I'm scared..." sobbed Marie, unable to stop her voice wavering. 

"But what of?" asked the girl, desperately searching for an answer to help her friend. 

"Monsters..." choked Marie, unable to control her whimpers and tears. 

Peacock laughed, bemused by Marie, and told the crying girl "Marie, ya olda than me, you're supposed to protect me from monsters!"   
Marie tried to wipe the tears from her eyes and let out a weak giggle, a smile breaking on her pale lips. Peacock rubbed their noses together and hugged her tight enough for their cheeks to press together. Peacock's joyous laughing stemmed Marie's tears and for a moment, all in the world was well. The girls seperated from their embrace, but they remained close to one another. The cyborg looked at her old friend and remembered about her blue hue and an inquisitive look sprung to her face. 

"Marie, what's dat on your back?" she asked. 

Marie's smile faded and was substituted for a deep, shameful look that dragged her gaze away from the rosy visage of her friend. Marie sighed, and with recurring tears answered. 

"It's nothing..." she replied "nothing to be afraid of..." 

Peacock rubbed her head and rubbed her eyes. She knew that her friend was hiding something and usually she'd press and press, but she did not care for her friend's look of misery - the sadness of Marie was perhaps the one thing in the world that had ever made the young girl close to tears. To her mind sprung familiar anger and her thoughts turned to violence. For every tear that Marie shed, memories of a time before were brought back - painful jolts to the mind which made Peacock's skull feel as if it was to explode. Her face became pained and she gripped her temples as if she were trying to keep herself together - but all she did was squeeze the emotions out; as if she were trying to milk herself of the tears that once dripped from her cheeks. The world became secondary to Peacock's fragile mind as it tried to comprehend itself - as it tried to become separate to the pain that existence brought. Here, in the night, did all the evils present and in the dark did the innocent suffer. There was one thing that broke the terror and mystique of the night; a beacon of hope in the dark and it is certain that each and every child has one. To many, it is a night light. To Peacock, it was her friend - although now she doubled as a night light, too. 

Peacock let her arms fall from her head, and dragged her head to meet Marie's face. 

She'd stopped crying now, her face now with etchings of sympathy. The gaze of her friend brought shame back to her and she tried to break Peacock's look, but the girl gently took Marie's cheek and brought her fixation back to her. Peacock, whose tired face made even her eye sockets seem weary, smiled weakly at her friend, who mimicked the redness of Peacock's face with her own blush. She took Marie's hand and guided her to the bed. The ginger haired girl shuffled into bed and coaxed her friend into doing likewise. Marie shyly shifted under the covers, trying to get comfortable but her friend pulled her close instead. Patricia gave her friend an eskimo's kiss once more before breaking into a toothy grin. Marie smiled, but weakly, as she began to succumb to an eon long tiredness. Her eyes were dark underneath and she could not help but yawn sweetly. Peacock snuggled into her friend's breast to stem sudden tears of joy - no longer could she control herself. For the first time in so long, she felt at ease and safe. After so long, she could hold her dear friend again. After so long, the evils of night were banished from her mind and she could truly let go. 

"Marie," said Peacock weakly as she too fell to the tiredness that comes from emotion, "rememba when we looked at the stars dat night before?" 

Marie nodded and murmured in pleasant thought as sleep consumed her. 

"Maybe... we can do it again some time soon, now that ya back, " smiled Peacock, just as she fell into sudden sleep. 

Marie remained awake for a little while longer after that. She lay with her friend at her side, her head rest softly against the pillow. She tried not to wake her friend with the sobbing that shook her breast and gently wiped tears from her eyes once more. She took out a sleeping mask, gently rolled it over her eyes and tried to sleep for just a little while.


End file.
